mused
As a company of poets,
I trust upon your empathy.
This lyric passion that we share
has led me to epiphany.
Of worldly craft I am bereft,
my mundane efforts meet defeat.
Like potion slipped into my wine,
she gifts me lines pre-penned complete.
So summoned by the odic muse
I write of things not understood.
With nuance, phrase and rhyme attuned,
her manna then my only food.
She cast my mind to mystic shores
then swept me past the Milky Way.
She taught me who I really am,
and showed me dawn of Brahma’s Day.
And boorish men with lives of woe
who, glazed and herded at the bar
say poetry is 'gay’ you know
will never see my Shangri-La.
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